


what's the gravity upon your face

by naimeria



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: McDanno if you squint, also these two are gross and I hate them, this isn't really a ship drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-12
Updated: 2014-11-12
Packaged: 2018-02-25 03:54:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2607515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s dizzy again and he’s being manhandled out of his own car. “That’s just rude,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t fight it. “First you don’t let me drive, then you escort me to the front door like some reject prom date.”</p><p>Or: Danny has a concussion and Steve is perfectly willing to deal with all that entails.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what's the gravity upon your face

**Author's Note:**

> I just think you all should know that I'm having an emotional crisis. These two manchildren are running my life right now and it's pretty gross. 
> 
> Shoutout to TheLiterator because she's great and has been dealing with my feelings with grace over the past couple of days.

He’s dizzy again and he’s being manhandled out of his own car. “That’s just rude,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t fight it. “First you don’t let me drive, then you escort me to the front door like some reject prom date.”

Steve laughs beside him, too good-natured for his liking, if he’s gonna be honest. “Danny, if you thought I was gonna let you drive with a full-blown concussion, then you’re more knocked around than I thought. And-“ he says, gripping Danny’s shoulder firmer to stop Danny from interrupting, “this is definitely a concussion, so stop trying to argue with me, alright?”

He huffs, because his head hurts and if Steve’s gonna treat him like a child, then he might as well act like one. He rolls his shoulders, making a foot of space between them. Steve amicably lets go, and he can practically feel that stupid grin aimed at the back of his head. “Why, may I ask, am I staring at your front door, Steven?”  


“Because you’re staying at my place for the night. I gotta watch you, make sure _that_ ,” and he annunciates it with a light poke to the side of Danny’s head, eliciting a hiss, “doesn’t get worse.”  


“Neanderthal,” Danny mutters, but opens the door with his spare, just to prove he can. He steps over the threshold and flicks on the lights, but that was a mistake, because everything is wobbly again, and the light stabs right through his eyes and into his brain. He hisses and stumbles backwards, back meeting Steve’s chest. His stomach roils, and he brings up a hand to paw at the wall, but Steve’s already flicked off the lights, his other hand wrapped around and pressed against Danny’s sternum, keeping him effectively pinned to his chest. Danny wants to be cranky about it, he really does, but he feels like a ship at sea, stomach churning something fierce in tandem with the rocking of the floorboards.  


“You with me, Danno?”  


He takes another moment, taking little breaths through his mouth before speaking. “Yeah. Yeah, m’good,” he says. He moves to step forward and away from Steve, and Steve acquiesces, following on his heels. Everything is still tossing, but the pain isn’t blinding anymore, so he’ll take it.  


“Water? Crackers?”  


“I have a mild concussion, I’m not an invalid,” he snaps, but ducks his head. “Sorry. I’m fine.”  


Steve takes it in stride, one hand lightly coming to the small of his back. “Go lay down, Danny. You’ll feel better after some rest. Been a long day.”  


He snorts but says nothing, walking to the living room slowly, feet feeling heavy. “Uh uh, man,” Steve corrects a moment later, and Danny pivots, scowling, but Steve is undeterred. “You’re kicking it in my bed tonight.”  


Danny’s mouth falls open uselessly, and he leans to the right a bit before righting himself. “Excuse me?”  


Steve shrugs. “Shouldn’t have to sleep on the couch in your condition. Not comfortable.”  


“You didn’t seem to mind how uncomfortable it was when I had to crash here before.”  


“Yeah, well, you weren’t concussed before.”  


Danny sticks out his lower lip and crosses his arms, going in for the annoyed pout. It’s hard to do because Steve’s in his personal space in every sense of the word, but he manages it. Steve, to his credit, doesn’t back down in the slightest (as if he expects him to anymore), and gives his back a little shove. “Come on, you’ll thank me once you get a good night’s rest.”  


“Will I?” he says, but he does as he’s told. To be honest, he’s feeling a little squirmy, as if he’s invading a part of Steve that he shouldn’t be. They know so much about one another already, but. It’s probably the head wound talking, but he feels weird about it. Sleeping on his couch had made him feel bad enough, but now he was stealing the man’s bed.  


Danny stops in the room and stares, needing a moment to steady himself then lingering in the doorframe longer than necessary. Steve chuckles behind him. “Step one, take off your shoes,” he says, and it’s the joking tone that sets him a bit at ease, but still.  


“This is your bed, I’m stealing your bed, can’t I just sleep on the floor, this is some pretty plush carpet, man, how do you get stains out of this nonsense?”  


“Danny, shut up and get in the bed already before you fall over.”  


He realizes he’s wavering a bit and huffs, taking a step forward, away from that hand of his. He sits slowly, takes off his shoes even slower, then leans backwards and hits the bed with an “oof.” The ceiling wavers and spins, and the patterns are swirling and making weird shapes, and he has to close his eyes as his stomach rolls again. “Ugh,” he lets slip, which was dumb of him, really, because he knows Steve is still in the room, and he’s probably gonna say something stupid.  


“You sure you’re alright? Need any medicine? You really should be drinking more water.”  


“Steve. Be quiet now.” It’s said on a sigh, but it’s not exactly a contented one. Steve’s silence indicates he picks up on it (and really they’ve been able to interpret each other’s silences for way too long, it’s just gross), and he comes closer instead of moving to fetch something.  


Steve’s not a loud breather – the teasing about Steve probably being a reanimated corpse has gone on for years now – but Danny can hear his huffs and feel his eyes on him, and he’s squirming again.  


“Can I help you.” It’s not a question.  


“Go to sleep, Danno.”  


“Trying, Steven.”  


A sigh, then he’s gone.  


Danny twitches his nose and tries rolling over. When a spike goes through his temple and he has to swallow bile, he decides sleeping on his back will just have to do.  


Sleep comes in fits of dozes. He’s usually awoken by the nausea, and it’s like a hangover only worse, and he can’t quite keep the groans at bay when he wakes up over and over again. Still, he’s not an idiot, and he knows he needs to be getting some rest now that they’re past the danger window. He’s not at risk of having brain damage, not anymore – he just feels like shit.  


The next time he wakes up, though, it’s not of his own doing. There’s a hand pressed to his forehead, and he leans away, because _cold_ , and he gets a sigh in response. “Runnin’ a fever, Danno,” Steve says quietly, and Danny tries turning over again. The nausea has blessedly retreated for now, but the actual wound is throbbing again, pulsing with his own heartbeat. He hopes he hasn’t opened the stitches again – he refuses to bleed on Steve’s bed.  


He tries to bring a hand up to grope at the base of his skull, but Steve’s hand is there instead. It’s cold but feather-light in its exploration, and Danny gives a hum. “Nothing bleeding. Still nauseous?”  


“Fine for now,” he mumbles. “Head just hurts is all. I’ll be fine.” He wants to go back to sleep, and Steve nods but doesn’t move. His hand goes from hanging at his side to pressing itself onto the side of the bed, and suddenly he’s climbing up onto the bed.  


“Whoa,” Danny says, first to the intrusion, and second to the rocking motion of the mattress. He tries rolling away, all flailing limbs because Steve is just in the bed with him as if that’s a normal thing to do, and a hand grabs his chest (again, really) to keep him from falling. Which is probably a good thing, all things considered, but there’s still the matter of Steve being in the bed with him.  


“Ever heard of privacy?”  


Steve snorts. “It’s my bed.”  


“Then let me go to the couch.”  


“Why does it matter?”  


“It just does – what, do you just randomly climb into beds with random people and look at them like they’re the ones being weird for asking?”  


“No, but-“  


“But nothing.”  


“But, something, Danny. You could still have some internal bleeding – it’s my job to make sure you’re alright.”  


“Oh, it’s your job, now? It’s your job. Huh. Should I list the things wrong with that statement numerically or alphabetically?”  


“Oh shut up, and go to sleep, Danny,” Steve says, resigned. “Just want to make sure you’re alright.”  


“Yeah, well.” Do that on the floor, or somewhere that isn’t right next to me, he wants to say, but he stops himself, because he doesn’t really care all that much. The proximity isn’t too much, and the warmth is there, and if he’s being honest –  


“Gimme more of the blanket, then,” he says. “And if you get sick, you are not allowed to whine. I mean it.”  


“Of course, Danny.”  


Steve’s back is to him, pressed just barely against his arm. It sounds a lot like a silent reminder that he’s not alone, and Danny slowly drifts off, wanting to be annoyed that Steve thinks he needs the reassurance, but slowly realizing he’s grateful that Steve knows him that well.  


  
*

When he wakes, his head still smarts, but the room isn’t rocking.  


“Hey.”  


“Hey yourself,” he says, hoping Steve didn’t notice he’d jumped a little. He doubts he’s that lucky, but he can hope. They’re not touching anymore, but it doesn’t matter – he’d slept through the night.  


“Sleep okay? You look a lot better.”  


“Uh, yeah,” Danny says. He wipes his face with a hand and cranes his neck, both testing his head and wanting to get an eye on where Steve is. A hand stops him, though, grabbing his cheek.  


“Gimme a set, I’m looking at it,” Steve says. Danny stills under his ministrations and doesn’t move until the hand lets up off his face. “Looking much better. It’s already scabbing.”  


Danny nods and turns his head, watching Steve sit up. He stretches his arms over his head then gets off the bed. “Hungry?”  


“We both should probably eat something, yeah,” Danny says, feeling strangely subdued. He feels like a kid that’s been caught sneaking into his parents’ bed after a nightmare. He sits up slowly, but he really does feel markedly better. Steve’s eyes are on him, and he nods once Danny sits up fully, apparently pleased by what he sees. He turns to leave, and Danny bites his lip. “Uh, hey, Steve.”  


“Hm?”  


“Thanks for, ah, letting me use your bed, and for the other thing.”  


Steve grins, a laugh on his face barely kept at bay, and he nods. “No problem, Danno.”


End file.
